Commercials

12/16/2013

Back in the summer 1975, I was nine years old and wanted to grow up to be Flip Wilson. Had I seen this shot of Flip Wilson hassling umpire Nick Colosi at the time it ran on the AP wire, it would have only strengthened my resolve further.

Aside from just being a wonderful (and quintessentially 70s) photo, I love the above pic because of what it foreshadows. In 1975, the Braves were a deeply awful team that boasted Phil Niekro and Carl Morton in the rotation, Darrell Evans, Dusty Baker and 1974 NL batting champ Ralph "Road Runner" Garr in the lineup, and not a whole helluva lot else. The team, which went 67-94 on the season (the only worse teams in the bigs that year were the Houston Astros and the Detroit Tigers), struggled to draw over half a million fans; only the San Francisco Giants drew worse, though Braves PR director Bob Hope later admitted that the Braves' dismal attendance figure of 534,672 was actually padded by the front office, who bought free promo tickets from themselves for a quarter apiece and marked them down as "paid admissions".

But as I detail in my forthcoming book, Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76 — which comes out April 29, though there's already a pre-order link HERE at Amazon — the Braves would do far better at the gate (if not on the field) in 1976, thanks to the arrival of new owner Ted Turner. Between them, Turner and Hope would lure fans to to Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium with one insane promotional stunt after another, many of which (like their "Headlock and Wedlock" promotion) made a pre-game appearance by one of TV's biggest comedians look like the most mundane thing imaginable.

Also foreshadowing the chaos and hilarity of Turner's impeding regime is the uniform number that Flip is wearing here: 17. In 1970, Turner bought Atlanta TV station WJRJ, which was located at Channel 17 on the UHF dial. After changing its name to WTCG (for Turner Communications Group or, as Turner liked to claim, "Watch This Channel Grow"), Turner negotiated a deal to broadcast Braves games in the Atlanta area; though Turner hadn't yet purchased the team at the time the above pic was taken, it's highly likely that he arranged for Wilson to sport number 17 as a subtle nod to the station.

Of course, the next guy to wear number 17 would do so in a much less subtle fashion. When Turner and Hope decided to put nicknames on the back of their players' uniforms, Andy Messersmith — Turner's big free agent signing in the spring of '76 — took the field wearing 17 with the word "Channel" above it.

National League President Chub Feeney, though perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, realized that "Channel" wasn't actually Messersmith's nickname, and came down on Turner for using Messersmith's jersey as free ad space for his TV station. (Forced to pick a new name for the back of his jersey, Messersmith went with "Bluto" instead.)

Feeney didn't realize how much worse it could have been. After all, if he'd really decided take to the Flip Wilson "17" stunt to its illogical conclusion, Turner could have sent his players into a game dressed like Flip's drag alter-ego Geraldine; when pressed for an explanation, Turner would have simply told Feeney that "the devil made me do it, honey!"

08/04/2013

Many of you fine folks have asked me, "Hey, Dan — I want a signed copy of Big Hair and Plastic Grass. How can I get one?" Well, since I've a) recently discovered a box full of first edition hardcovers in my office, and b) just figured out how to put a PayPal button on this page, I now have an answer for you!

Just send me $25 (plus $5 shipping) via PayPal, and I will wing you an autographed first edition of BH&PG forthwith. I'll sign it to you, your Dad, your best friend, anyone you want — and if you want me to personalize it further, just put the name of your favorite 70s player or team in the box below, and I'll wittily incorporate them into your inscription.

A critically acclaimed book on the national pastime's funkiest era, signed and personalized by the guy Cardboard Gods author Josh Wilker calls "the Bangsian Herodotus of '70s Baseball"? Get yerself one NOW, baby, while supplies last!

09/10/2012

Back in the 70s, before full-scale free agency kicked in and ratcheted up the salaries, major league baseball players often had to find additional off-season employment to make ends meet. Tom Seaver, however, was in the upper echelon of baseball's salary bracket; in late '75, after winning his third NL Cy Young award, the New York Mets raised his salary to a then-whopping $225,000 a year. But as a star player, you get plenty of endorsement deals thrown your way, so... I guess it makes sense that Seaver would have chosen to make a few bucks on the side by shilling for the Sears mens department.

Here's "Tom Terrific" on his 1976 Hostess card. The epitome of baseball cool, right? Now look again at the Sears ad on the top of the page, also from '76, and observe how a baseball hero can be transformed into a schlubby insurance salesman, sleazy private detective or "with-it" high school principal with just one four-piece ensemble. That's right, people — just $110 (or about $400 in today's currency) would have gotten you a two-button blazer, a flap-pocketed leisure suit jacket, and two pairs of "slacks" (one plain, one checked) in your choice of "fashionably new spring shades of blue, green, tan and rust" (that's right, rust), all tailored (perhaps "formed" would be the more accurate word) from bolts of wash-and-wear doubleknit polyester. Jesus, I'm getting skin cancer just thinking about the way that fabric must have felt...

But speaking of 1976, this seems like a good time to mention (since I basically keep forgetting to say something about it on this blog) that I've signed a deal with St. Martin's Press (the same fine folks who published Big Hair & Plastic Grass) for a book about that very same year. Tentatively titled Bicentennial Boogie: Baseball and America in the Star-Spangled Summer of '76, the new tome will be filled with all kindsa good stuff from the year that brought us Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, The Bad News Bears, the return of Bill Veeck, the last glorious championship thrust of "The Big Red Machine," Charlie's Angels, Legionnaire's Disease and the dark horse Presidential victory of Jimmy Carter, is slated to come out in April 2014. I am extremely excited to be working on a book about what's pretty much my favorite year in baseball history, and to be working again with my righteous editor Rob Kirkpatrick.

Will Tom Terrific's fashion faux pas make the cut? It certainly has a good shot, at least at this point. But if any of you fine folks reading this run across any other great baseball-related print or TV ads from '76, please let me know. Ditto for any of you collectors who are sitting on some previously un-published baseball photos from the Bicentennial year, and might be willing to let me include them in the book in exchange for a few bucks, credit, and my undying gratitude. In any case, a major tip of the Monsanto Toupee to all of you who bought, reviewed, talked-up or otherwise supported Big Hair & Plastic Grass. I am deeply thankful for your help, deeply gratified by your enthusiasm, and I really couldn't have made it to this next book project without you. Long may you all groove like Ellis Valentine...

05/07/2012

A tip of the Monsanto Toupee goes out to Big Hair & Plastic Grass Facebook page fan Kyle Bookholz, who hipped me today to this amazing Minnesota Twins TV ad from 1979, featuring Jerry Koosman, Ken Landreaux, Roy Smalley, Roger Erickson and Ron Jackson. "I've been hearing how the Twins are hurtin' without Carew," sez Kooz, which makes me wonder how many teams today would name a recently-departed star player in a TV ad, even as an act of defiance.

Put it this way: I'm pretty sure the Cardinals aren't running a "We don't need no stinkin' Pujols" spot on St. Louis channels. Though considering how hapless the Twins have been this year, maybe they should consider adopting "We've Got Something To Prove" as their "exciting" new slogan.

Koosman at least had reason to cop a 'tude, having been shipped to the Twins for a couple of minor leaguers (including Jesse Orosco) after going 3-15 for the Mets in '78 (and 8-20 the year before). Getting some decent run support for the first time in years, Kooz would go on to win 20 games for Minnesota in 1979. Unfortunately, his team would only win 82 games in all, finishing 6 games out in the AL West... behind the Rod Carew-infused California Angels, of course.

09/10/2011

Thirty-seven years ago tonight, in front of a crowd of 27,285 at Busch Stadium, Lou Brock first stole his way into the record books, tying and then breaking Maury Wills' single-season stolen base mark of 104.

Lou notched his 104th and 105th swipes of the year against Dick Ruthven and Bob Boone of the Phillies. Number 105 came in the bottom of the 7th, as the Phils were leading 6-2 on the way to an easy 8-2 victory over the Cardinals; a fairly meaningless steal in the context of the game, to be sure, but it also gave Brock 740 steals for his career, setting a new NL mark. (Max Carey had previously held the record with 738.)

The game was stopped briefly, in order to celebrate Lou's accomplishment. In a very nice touch, Negro League legend James "Cool Papa" Bell — Satchel Paige claimed Cool Papa was so fast back in the day, he could flick the bedroom light switch and be under the covers before the room got dark — was on hand to offer Lou congratulations. Negro Leaguers had only recently begun to be elected into the Hall of Fame on an equal basis as their major league counterparts (Paige was the first, in 1971), with Bell being inducted in 1974. The nattily-attired Bell presented Brock with the base he had just stolen, joking, "We decided to give him his 105th base, because if we didn't, he was going to steal it, anyway."

Lou did try to make it a hat-trick in the bottom of the ninth, after reaching first on an error by Larry Bowa, but Boone managed to cut him down — one of a league-leading 33 times that Lou was caught in '74. No matter; he'd still manage to steal 13 more bases before the season was out, finishing 1974 with a stunning total of 118, and putting him on track to break Ty Cobb's seemingly untouchable mark of 892 five years later. Despite Lou's grand larceny, the Cards lost the NL East race, coming in a game and a half short of the Pirates; Lou himself would finish second in the NL MVP voting to Steve Garvey. His flower shops in St. Louis, however, apparently did quite well...

08/26/2011

In these hot and humid dog days of summer, the well-dressed gentleman wants to stay cool and comfortable, yet remain fashionable. So take Tom Seaver's tip, and get you some short-sleeved dress shirts made of Dacron-infused Perma-Prest ("the remarkable new stretch fabric") from Sears — and maybe some oar-wide op-art ties to go with 'em!

06/10/2011

By the time you read this, Dave Parker will have turned 60 years old — the man they called "The Cobra" was born on June 9, 1951. And in case you're not hip to what a supreme badass The Cobra was in his day, or you missed my day-long tribute to the man on the Big Hair & Plastic Grass Facebook page, here's a little primer for ya. The Cobra would have a place in my book (and my heart) just for his nickname and the fact that he wore t-shirts emblazoned with P-Funk lyrics, but he also happened to be one of the best and most dangerous players of the second half of the 1970s. A true five-tool player, he could hit for average and power, run like hell (even if he wasn't the savviest of base stealers), and he had a solid glove and a veritable cannon for a throwing arm: The man cut down 26 base runners in 1977 alone.

The NL batting champ in 1977 and 1978 (when he hit .338 and .334, respectively), NL MVP in 1978 (when he also led the league with a .585 slugging percentage and 340 total bases), and a mainstay of the "We Are Family" World Champion Pittsburgh Pirates of 1979, Parker also nabbed the '79 All Star MVP award when he cut down Jim Rice at third and Brian Downing at home with two of the most jaw-dropping throws ever unleashed. (Note to Buster Posey — all you folks whining about how catchers need to be "protected" — THIS is how you're supposed to set up for a throw from right field.)

Above, baseball commish Bowie Kuhn hands Parker his All-Star Game MVP trophy, shortly after the NL's 7-6 victory at the Seattle Kingdome. "You know, I used to be a Washington Senators scoreboard boy," sez Kuhn. "Shut the fuck up, Honky," thinks The Cobra.

One of the first players to wear gold jewelry on the field (asked why he wore a Star of David, he famously replied, "My name is David, and I'm a star") Parker also gained notoriety for the various protective masks he wore during the 1978 and early '79 seasons, after a collision with Mets catcher John Stearns shattered his cheekbone. As Paul Lukas' excellent Uni Watch column from 2008 reveals, he only wore this fearsome hockey mask for a brief period before ditching it in favor of a batting helmet outfitted with a football faceguard; but it's a good bet that any opposing infielder who saw the 6'6", 235 lb Parker bearing down on him looking like this probably still has nightmares about it to this day.

Should Dave Parker be in the Hall of Fame? He missed out again this year, in his last year of eligibility, but I think 339 career homers (most of which were hit during a period when 20 homers a year made you a legitimate slugger), 1493 career RBI, a lifetime .290 average, three Gold Gloves, one MVP award (and four other finishes in the Top 5) and World Series rings with Pittsburgh and Oakland should have made for a fairly compelling (if not overwhelming) case for enshrinement. If he hadn't had three unproductive seasons in the middle of his career (1981-83) and hadn't been implicated in the Pittsburgh cocaine trials, he may well have been a lock. But fuck it — from 1975 to 1979 (ie, one-half of the period this blog and my book are concerned with), Parker was the most feared hitter in baseball, and that's good enough to land him in the Big Hair & Plastic Grass Hall of Fame. Plus, he was called The Cobra, fer chrissakes — a nickname which some sources claim was given to him by a member of the Bucs' organization who had a tendency to drunkenly ogle the players in various states of undress...

But hey, that's a whole 'nother story. Lemme close this piece with a great 1980 commercial for 7=Up, which featutes Parker, Mike Schmidt and Bruce Sutter in some pretty choice examples of late 70s/early 80s uniform finery. It's just too bad Parker didn't try to throw the bottle home; my guess is that it would've reached the plate on the fly. Happy Birthday, Cobra — you were the fuckin' MAN.

09/07/2010

I have no memory of seeing this commercial in my youth — I only associate Richard Dawson from Family Feud with Botany 500. But I do remember when Fred Lynn was considered a surefire future Hall of Famer; aside from a crummy '77 season (when he hit .260 with a .327 OBP), his '70s seasons for the Red Sox were all very good to great.

Most notable, of course, was Lynn's rookie season of 1975, when he batted .331 with 21 HR and 105 RBI, while leading the AL in runs (103), doubles (47), slugging (.566) and OPS (.967), earning both Rookie of the Year and MVP honors while leading the Red Sox to the World Series. But his 1979 was pretty damn stellar, too — the guy led the AL in batting (.333), on-base percentage (.423), slugging (.637) and OPS (1.059), while jacking 39 homers, driving in 122 runs and scoring 116 more.

Lynn never managed to live up to those two years, but he remained an incredibly consistent player well into the late '80s — from 1982 to 1988, he hit between 21 and 25 homers in every season. And the man could wear the hell out of a suit.

08/24/2010

Okay, here's a '70s baseball-related TV commercial that even I don't remember, for a product I don't think I remember either. Thrill as Johnny Bench, the greatest catcher of the 1970s, shills for chocolate-flavored bubblegum...

03/01/2010

Okay, this commercial is from 1980, but it's close enough — and after all, it features Luis Tiant, one of the most colorful hurlers of the '70s.

A big tip of the Monsanto toupee goes to Paul Sherman, who alerted me to the existence of this clip. Why anyone thought El Tiante would make a good TV pitchman is beyond me — it took me three viewings to completely decipher what he's saying — although, given the comparatively low salaries of players in the '70s and early '80s, I can almost believe that he was actually doing this for the free paint. Paul, who grew up in Boston, also adds:

"For some inexplicable reason, he used to "workout" in my high school gym (mid-1970s). You'd be there playing pickup basketball, and Luis would be doing (*very* slow) laps (must have been Dec/Jan, before spring training). It's not like he knew a gym teacher or something. We were all so awed and puzzled, I can't remember anyone actually talking to him."

Dan Epstein

Dan Epstein is the author of Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging '70s and Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76, both published by Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin's Press. He writes about baseball, music and other cultural obsessions for a variety of outlets and publications. He lives in Southern California, and is available for speaking engagements.